Wormtail's Revenge
by omegao
Summary: Wormtail uses a sinister spell to get revenge on Snape.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This story is based on characters that were created by J.K Rowling

Feldon was one of those brilliant street performers everybody talked about but nobody knew, because he always kept to himself. He mainly performed card tricks, juggling, and a straitjacket escape for the finale. Anything for the muggles.

At first he dressed in Muggle clothes during his shows, but soon realized that the muggles expected some sort of costume, to increase the illusion that his magic was real. Which it was. He used no fake decks. The juggling balls would linger in the air a little too long, and he could throw them up in impossible patterns. Only once had he had any trouble with a straitjacket escape, and the memory still made his stomach churn.

A long time ago, when he was still a gangling teen-ager, Feldon had ridden his wagon into town and had begun setting up his show immediately. He began as usual, executing his tricks from behind a large table covered by red felt. Quite a crowd had gathered, and everything was going smoothly. Until the escape. He always chose a volunteer from the crowd to do up the knots, and this time his finger had pointed to a small plump boy with a rat's face. The boy had come meekly forward and announced that his name was Peter. He began to do up the knots timidly, but Feldon could feel enthusiasm in the fingers and sense a powerful magic in the binds. Just his luck! He had chosen a real wizard. He began to chew on the insides of his cheeks, as he always did when nervous. He wasn't much more than a squib, really. His magic was good enough to impress the muggles but wasn't worth much more than that. It took only a few half-hearted struggles for him to realize he was trapped. In front of over a hundred muggles! He gulped and tasted blood.

"Boy," he whispered, keeping his voice low enough that only Peter could hear. "If you let me free myself, you can have anything you like from that box under the table. I give you my word of honor."

Peter eyed the box. Its contents couldn't be seen from where he was standing, but it looked intriguing. He considered. It was worth a shot. Gradually Feldon could feel the magic in the binds lessen and was able to free himself from the heavy canvas. The public applauded and dropped money into his hat.

As the public began to disperse, Peter just leaned against the table, a smirk on his face. Then he went over to the box and examined its contents. It was full of muggle magic tricks – a large assortment of cards, ropes, silk and dice. All worthless. He rummaged to the bottom and pulled out an old book entitled Potions from the Grave. On the cover was a picture of a woman screaming, bees flying out of her mouth. Feldon's heart sank. It was the one valuable item in the box. The book contained spells written both by and for muggles that weren't very well known in the wizarding community. Peter cradled the book in his arms and smiled.

"What do you want that for?" Feldon asked sharply. "A muggle wrote that. You wouldn't be interested."

But Peter just continued smiling and tucked the book delicately inside his jacket. Then he turned and sauntered away, leaving Feldon fuming and puzzled. At last he just sighed, packed up his wagon and rode off, the rusty wheels squeaking dejectedly along the cobbled London streets.


	2. Snape's Grave Mistake

Wormtail slithered through the library. The route was familiar, and he made his way easily among the vast bookshelves despite the darkness. It was just before midnight at Spinner's End, and he was spending a customary evening behind the bookshelf in Snape's rundown house.

Behind the bookshelf was a staircase that led to a small library, and he spent most of his time leafing through the dusty old volumes and waiting for Snape's return for the Christmas Holidays. Snape was supposed to arrive at midnight, and Wormtail rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He reached out and glided his finger softly over the rough book covers, then paused at an enormous red book at the end of the second shelf. His lips curled into a malicious smile as he carefully removed the book and cradled it in his arms. His most prized possession, and Snape had always ignored it.

He rifled through the yellowing pages until he came to the very last potion, which promised to be the most powerful yet, although he wasn't exactly sure what it did. Contact with this potion, he read, will induce a rare and frightening Muggle disease in the unknowing victim. Squinting down at the final ingredients, Wormtail turned to a shimmering metal cauldron in the center of the library. He dropped in three human eyeballs, listening to them plop into the hot liquid and then slowly sizzle to the bottom. Then he reached into his pocket, shuddered, and added the rat poison. The potion turned green and began to bubble threateningly. "This is for you, Snape," he said, his voice quietly resonating through the dark library. "My Christmas present to you."

Snape resented having to spend the Christmas holidays with Wormtail. It was maddening to have to endure the rat's company for two entire weeks. He slipped into a pleasant daydream of Wormtail lying dead behind the hidden door in the bookshelf as he made his way through the long grass that grew by the river. Garbage lay everywhere, and he secretly relished the familiar rotting smell that always rose from the bank. As he turned onto Spinner's End he stopped and briefly admired the surrounding houses. Ruined, abandoned and neglected – it was just the place for him. He came up to his house at last and squeezed his narrow frame through the doorway. Darkness greeted him as he made his way inside.

It was ready. Wormtail carefully scooped a generous amount of the potion into a flask. Then, he went over to the door and opened it just a couple inches, shivering with excitement. With the aid of a chair he balanced the glass between the top of the doorframe and the wall, so that it would fall as soon as the door was opened. Another little trick he had learnt from Muggles. It was difficult to suppress the nervous sniggers that threatened to erupt from his mouth. He sat down behind a bookshelf and cradled his knees in his arms, listening to Snape's movements downstairs. They would be the last movements he would ever make.

Snape sensed a change in the room as soon as he stepped inside, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was. The grandfather clock on the wall seemed to be ticking a little too loudly, as though trying to communicate some ominous secret. He could feel recent magic in the air, almost tangible in the old rundown house. Wormtail was nowhere to be seen. He waved his hand over a wax candle and it instantly became ablaze, the flickering light casting long shadows across the room. Snape cautiously made his way to the bookshelf. "Wormtail?" No answer. He began to grow annoyed. He was getting a bit too old for hide and seek, he mused grimly as he opened the hidden door. He thought he heard a quiet bubbling noise as he made his way up the stairs. "Wormtail, show yourself this instant!" His candle fluttered and blew out.

Wormtail had to cover his mouth with his hand. He was coming! He peered through a crack in the bookshelf and saw Snape angrily swing the door open and enter the room, still clutching the burnt out candle. The precariously balanced flask came crashing down on his head, the liquid spilling into his hair and down the nape of his neck.

At first Snape felt nothing. He wondered what the little vermin been thinking. That he, the Potions master of Hogwarts for so many years, could actually be harmed by a potion? The idea was ridiculous. There was not a potion in the wizarding world he was unfamiliar with, and he could undo any of their nasty effects with a swish of his wand. There was no need to be afraid, he told himself. Then an anxious and unpleasant feeling began to spread through his body. Germs became visible in the air, leaping onto his skin and infecting his body and brain. A piercing scream filled his head and he realized that it was coming from himself, from what seemed a long distance away. The world suddenly became full of numbers, and repetition suddenly became extremely important. "Help!" he screamed. "Help help help help help help help help!" He frantically grabbed his wand. Perhaps some light would ease his panic. "Lumos !" he screamed. "Nox !" "Lumos nox lumos nox lumos nox lumos nox lumos nox !" It was no good. Perhaps he could find refuge in the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. Snape took four steps toward the doorway, tripped and fell, smacking his head audibly on the fourth step. Blood gushed freely from his forehead as lay at the bottom in a crumpled unconscious heap.

Wormtail stood at the top of the staircase, gazing down at the unconscious form with delight in his eyes. He would savor the image forever. Snape, defeated at last, lying in a helpless heap on the floor. He reached into his pocket again and this time produced a gleaming pair of scissors. He ran down the stairs lightly, as though he shed ten years with every step. When he reached Snape he savagely cut away a clump of greasy black hair and laughed. Just enough for a big batch of Polyjuice potion. Wormtail closed his eyes and imagined himself as a new faculty member at Hogwarts. The mischief he could cause! It was going to be an interesting year…


End file.
